


Iceberg, Tip Of

by periphery87



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attack, can be preslash?, lbr everything i ever write can be pre-relationship i have a pattern, previously posted on my tumblr, suicidality mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periphery87/pseuds/periphery87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-STID. It’s their first flight back together and Leonard has been dealing with the consequences of breaking his oath and the code of medical ethics. Not to mention that he’s been dealing with it alone. </p>
<p>Alternatively: You can’t get yourself help when you hate yourself. Not without a decompensation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iceberg, Tip Of

If they’d tried him on a short shuttle flight first it might be different now. Just up and down to somewhere else on the good solid earth where he can _always_ breathe. But they didn’t think of that. (To be fair to them both, neither expected this.) And they’ve busy enough right there in San Francisco, no need or energy to go anywhere else. Scotty and Spock have done all the checks on the Enterprise while she’s repaired up in spacedock. Most everybody heads up when it’s time for their first re-commission trip, a short jaunt to Deneb and back before the official re-christening. It’s a crowded shuttle, the bridge and senior crew last, and Leonard’s chest doesn’t drop until the ground falls away.

_Shit_ , he thinks. _Shitshitshit._ Part of his mind has gone blank while another whirs up calculating the number of mechanisms that simultaneously vie to kill you upon exposure to pure space and nowhere, nowhere can he find the calm veneer that used to keep the rest of him in check. The safety belt is too tight across his abdomen, it’s making him sick, and to his right the Bay is falling away and he has to close his eyes.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to realize that Spock, neatly buckled in across the way, is speaking to him. “What?” he grunts.

“Doctor.” Leonard can’t see Spock’s face, but he can hear the eyebrow rising. “Your respiratory rate has increased past thirty.”

Damn him. Leonard wedges his hands between his knees so Spock won’t see them shaking. “Thanks for the update.”

“Doctor…” Spock trails off. Or is that just the fog in his brain? They’re so far above the fog by now….

 

* * *

 

 

When Spock first came to work among humans, his acclimation process required frequent calls to his mother, who patiently explained the vagaries of his new colleagues’ behavior. “You know,” she said once during the discussion of a particularly puzzling case, “humans all think a little differently. Sometimes we don’t even understand each other’s behavior. Often, in fact. It might take someone with a longstanding or close emotional tie to figure this one out.”

Spock makes a habit of following his mother’s advice, provided that it is at least grossly rational. 

He excuses himself quietly from the two isolated seats by the window and proceeds to the cockpit in search of Captain Kirk.

 

* * *

 

  

Jim likes to learn things – all kinds of things. He likes that his crew is so talented, with so many depths, and he _loves_ learning about the things that excite them. Which lands him in the cockpit, getting an impromptu course in shuttle navigation from Pavel Chekov, who is taking a mile a minute about the effect of surface weather conditions on ground-to-space flights. Jim’s right there with him until Spock ruins everything by tapping him on the shoulder.

“ _Yes_ , Mr. Spock.” 

“Captain. Dr. McCoy is behaving strangely.”

“You say that at least once a week, Spock, can’t it wait?” This is not strictly true as they haven’t all been together in weeks – months. But Spock certainly _used_ to say this often and they’re going back to normal now. He’ll be hearing this on a regular basis again now.

“I was unclear, Captain. I should say, rather, that the doctor is… not himself.”

Jim frowns; it’s an unusual turn of phrase from his first officer. “Explain.”

“He appeared to lose the thread of our conversation at the start of the flight. His respiratory rate has increased to thirty-five and his eyes – “

“Shit,” Jim says with a sudden flash of understanding, and he’s off with a bemused Chekov left behind and Spock at his heels.

 

* * *

 

 

“Bones,” he says as he approaches, fair warning. Leonard’s chosen a good spot for it at least, these two seats a row ahead of everyone else. Could he have done it on purpose? He’s the one who’s always saying that the subconscious does strange things.

“I’m _fine,_ ” Leonard says, “don’t you worry about me.”

Jim ignores him and perches on the empty seat that must have been Spock’s. It’s been so long, so long, but it’s all coming back, bit by bit. “Bones. Give me your hands.”

He’s hunched forward in his seat, hands wedged between his knees. “Jim, you need to – “

“Your _hands_ , Bones.”

Leonard huffs and slaps his hands into Jim’s, forceful. Jim grips the sweaty, shaking fingers tightly. It’s all the confirmation he needs that he was right.

“Okay,” he says calmly, “now we’re going to breathe, all right? Breathe in – and – hold….”

Leonard chokes on his own shallow breaths and shakes his head, clutching at Jim’s hands.

“Okay, okay, try again. Like in a physical remember?” Jim breathes with him this time, deeply, watching critically as his chest expands and falls under his shiny med-blue tunic. “Good….” Again: rise, fall. “What are you listening for when you make me do that, anyway?

On the exhale Leonard answers, “Knowing you, probably an atypical atypical pneumonia.”

“Double atypical?”

“Atypical pneumonia is actually common in adolescents. So, you know, you.”

“ _Thanks_ , Bones.”

“But you can never be even _that_ predictable.”

“I do my best.”

Leonard’s breathing more steadily now, still holding fast to Jim’s hands, hunched over; Jim tilts his head but can’t catch his eyes. “Better?”

“Mmm.”

“Feel sick?”

“I _won’t_ throw up on your shoes this time.”

“That wasn’t the question.” Jim looks up and finds Spock, who is hovering in the aisle in reckless defiance of safety protocol. “Do us a favor, Spock?”

“Captain?”

“Bring me the bag under my seat in the cockpit. Check our ETA while you’re up there.”

Spock strides off and Jim looks back to Leonard. So different, he thinks, the two of them, his old friend and his new, but steady in their own ways. No matter how much he and Bones see each other through, it will always crack him a little to see Leonard hurt. No matter how much… something is wrong there but he shakes it off, for now.

“Bones,” he says, “can you look at me?”

Leonard shakes his head at their shoes.

“You’re losing the breathing. C’mon now, with me – in….”

When Spock returns, Jim frees a hand to rummage in his bag and extracts a small tin. “Here, Bones,” he says, popping it open.

“You hate breath mints,” Leonard says, reaching for one. It’s true: Jim has always felt that masking one’s breath with sugar is no better than lying.

Now he shrugs. “I’m always prepared.”

Leonard sucks a mint between his teeth and finally, finally meets Jim’s eyes. “It’s been years.”

“So what?”

Leonard looks away, then up to Spock. “How much longer?”

“We should arrive at the _Enterprise_ within twenty minutes. Mr. Chekov was unable to provide a more precise estimate.”

Jim smiles at the obvious distaste in Spock’s voice.

Leonard doesn’t.

“With your permission, Captain,” Spock continues, “I will return to the cockpit to instruct Mr. Chekov in the importance of precision.”

“Excellent idea, Mr. Spock.” Jim pats Leonard’s knee absently as they are left alone again. “Look at that. Spock’s learning social skills.”

“I didn’t even know this was going to happen.”

“You chose the seats by the toilet, away from everyone else,” Jim points out.

“I –“ Leonard shakes his head, eyes skittering. Try as he might, Jim can’t catch his gaze again.

Suddenly he has questions, so many questions, but now is not the time nor the place. “Okay, Bones, never mind that now. We’re almost there.” He presses Leonard’s hand and tries to think of a good story. All he’s got is yesterday’s news broadcasts. It’ll have to do.

  

* * *

 

 

Leonard is first onto the _Enterprise_ when the shuttle finally docks, moving like a man possessed. Jim follows him, letting the rest of the senior crew scatter, ignoring their curious looks. They’ll be expecting him on the bridge shortly, but he should have a few minutes’ leeway at least. He catches up partway to sickbay and grabs for Leonard’s shoulder. “Bones, wait.”

“What?” Leonard steps away from his hand.

Jim hides his pang of sudden confusion. “We need to talk about this.”

“Why? Why would we suddenly need to – no.” Leonard rakes a distracted hand through his hair. “I gotta go. They’re waiting for you.”

“Bones – “ Leonard’s hands are still shaking. That’s never happened before, not on something as big as a starship, inside with no windows.

“Jim, let me go and get my damn eslorazepam already.”

Jim stills. “You can’t work on that stuff.”

“I fucking know that, Jim.”

The things he isn’t saying – _it’s that bad_  – the first thrill of staffing concerns – it’s all Jim can do to say, “ _Bones._ ”

“Captain,” Leonard says, and walks away.

 

* * *

 

 

Their first year at the academy wasn’t exactly a banner year for either of them. That was the year Jim got into too many fights while drunk and Leonard only got drunk in order to get on an aircraft. After a while, as they grew closer, Jim began to seek the other out for minor injuries. It took much longer, though, for him to cotton on to Leonard’s drinking habits. 

It was after the Thanksgiving holiday of their second year that he first brought it up, after he saw a drunk Leonard off to Georgia and met him from his return shuttle, plastered again. He waited until they were both sober, over lunch one day, and said, _Bones, we’ve got to do something about your thing about flying._

Leonard tensed and didn’t look at him. _What thing?_

_Bones, c’mon. Starfleet operates in space. We start sims next semester. How are you –_

_So I get a ground posting._

_No. That’s not good enough for you._ As he said it Jim knew it was true – he knew Leonard well enough already to know that the brilliant, short-tempered, endlessly empathetic man who had thrown himself into his xenobio courses with such zeal could never be satisfied with a ground posting while his friends traveled the galaxy. Jim wanted better for Leonard. It was a strange feeling, but one he didn’t fight. _Look. I have some ideas._

_Jim, I really –_

_Stop. We’re gonna figure this out, you and me. We start tomorrow. No self-medicating._

That’s how it started. The next day Jim tried to take him onto a grounded shuttle and Leonard threw up all over his shoes, just as he’d threatened to the day they met. Jim backed off and took it slow. They spent hours watching training vids with terrible acting. Jim learned quickly how to spot Leonard’s panic attacks, how to help, and then how to help stave them off. Unused sim centers, grounded shuttles. Jim couldn’t remember ever feeling so responsible for someone else. It was months before he realized that he’d stopped getting into fights. Leonard had to drop out of the simulation course early on and retake it in the summer. Jim claimed that his course load was too heavy and did the same. By the start of their third year, he considered the experiment a success. Leonard could take a sober shuttle flight on his own now – although they both felt better if Jim was sitting next to him.

 

* * *

 

 

In the years since Jim has continued to keep a weather eye on Leonard during flights. He’s not had cause for concern until today. And _eslorazepam_. Jim may not know much medicine but he knows that that’s just the medicinal version of several stiff drinks. Since when…?

Come to think of it, he’s barely seen Bones in – in – in….

 

* * *

 

 

He’d given up on this so thoroughly that having it back, even for twenty minutes, throws him entirely. Leonard figures this out while standing tightly at the end of his own medbay, waiting for Christine to find the eslorazepam, trying in vain to calm his own self down. He still feels shaky, light and unreal. It’s been so long and he’s been working so hard, offering to cover for anyone he can find, just to tamp down the emptiness that grew inside while he was suspended and alone. What just happened on the shuttle wasn’t even the worst of it: that would be the little voice, the little part of his mind that sometimes thinks about ways to end it all, the little voice that on some days sounds so reasonable, so convincing. But panic attacks can’t hide. He’s vaguely irritated about that. If it could just have been _quiet_ then Jim and Spock wouldn’t know anything and he wouldn’t be so confused.

With all the _quiet_ pain he’s been alone alone alone. Back in the Academy Jim used to be around, casually disrupting his solitude. But they’re not in the Academy anymore and they’ve been scattered waiting for the ship to be repaired and Leonard spent his suspension, a punishment far lighter than he deserved, pacing his quarters alone. Jim was in subacute rehab and must have been too busy to answer his few tentative comms.

“Dr. McCoy.” Christine touches his arm and he jumps badly. Ignoring her look of concern, he takes the little plastic cup and swallows the pill dry.

 

* * *

 

 

Now of course he can think of time after time when he should have said something. Times Leonard stalked in to watch his physical therapy sessions and left like a thunderclap before Jim could approach him. Times when Leonard’s self-deprecation seemed like more than a joke. Times when Leonard reached out and Jim forgot to reach back. 

He’ll cut himself a little slack for the time he spent in rehab. But just a little, because he was out of rehab six months ago and he checked on Scotty and Spock and others from the crew all along. _His_ crew. _His_ responsibility.

He thought Leonard was all right. Busy – they both were – but all right. He always was. Bones, who used to be certifiably settled down, is the steadiest person Jim knows.

But now that he thinks about it. He saw the forced smiles the last time they saw each other, at a crew meeting two days ago, and he let them slide. False smiles, lame excuses, untouched meals, empty weeks – these things start to pile up as he remembers. He saw the signs, and he dismissed them.

They pile up to damn him. 

 

* * *

 

The sedative took the edge off, but it’s an hour into ship’s night and he still can’t sleep. Leonard paces his cabin, laying an absent hand on its few furnishings, wondering how much longer it will be his. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had to take an involuntary leave to sort themselves out. Involuntary leaves that turn into permanent leaves.

He should have asked for a higher dose. It’s not like he’s been sleeping great anyway.

When the door chimes he’s honestly surprised to find Jim Kirk there, jaw tight. “Bones,” he says, “take a walk with me?”

Leonard shrugs. He doesn’t have anything else to do. They must be underway now, if Jim is free of the bridge. He hadn’t even felt anything.

They walk in silence until Jim stops in a hallway lined with numbered doors and starts to key into one of them. With a jolt Leonard realizes where they are – at the tiny viewing bays along the hull, the ones people use for meditation, or bold sexual encounters, or just watching the galaxy go by. “No,” he says, backing up a step. “No no no. No. No.”

Jim opens the door and wedges it ajar with a foot, then looks at him steadily. “It’s okay in there.”

“No.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Fuck.” Leonard exhales sharply and looks at the ceiling. He could still refuse, he knows, he could say _yes but_ and that would be that. But Jim has just used their touchstone phrase, the admission they drag out only in times of need. They don’t speak of trust lightly, the two of them. It’s a signal that Jim, however far away he’s seemed for the past long months, is taking this seriously.

“Yes,” he says, meeting Jim’s gaze briefly before closing his eyes. He lets Jim lead him into the room and to a seat on the carpeted floor, hears the door click shut behind them, senses Jim settling on the floor in front of him.

“You can open your eyes, Bones. It’s okay, honest.”

He has to hold tight to his own sleeves but he does it, only to realize that the windows, usually blindless, are completely covered by hangings of thick fabric. “How did you – “

“Bummed a bunch of blankets from your Sickbay.” Jim lays a hand on his knee. “How you doing?”

“It’s still out there.”

“I know. Just look at me.”

Jim has placed himself between Leonard and the windows. It’s entirely stupid that this should help, but then again the whole thing is stupid as far as Leonard is concerned. He draws in a deep breath, then another. “I’ve got it.”

“Good. Because I didn’t bring you here just to test you.”

“No?” Now he’s got Leonard’s full attention.

“No. I want to… I mean….” For the first time tonight, Jim looks uncertain. “I need to ask… no.”

“Jim, what’s going on? Are you feeling all right?”

“Fine.” Jim presses his knee impatiently. “Stop – _stop_ taking care of me for a minute, okay? This is about you.”

Leonard searches his face, then nods slowly. “Okay?”

“Okay. Bones… how have you been lately? I mean – since everything.”

“Fine.”

“No, I mean I’m really asking.”

Leonard looks down at his own arms tangled in his lap. The real answer of course is that everything has been awful. The real answer is that he can’t remember the last time he woke up without dread. He’s pretty sure there was a time in his life when he was okay – when he didn’t hate himself – when guilt didn’t loom so large that nonexistence itself seemed preferable. But he can’t remember what that time felt like.

He can’t tell Jim any of that.

“I’m… managing,” he says, because it seems like a safe compromise.

“Managing,” Jim repeats. “You know, I asked around tonight. Chapel says you’ve been working early ever since you were taken off suspension. She said you haven’t taken more than two days off in the last three or four months. And Uhura – “ He seizes Leonard’s wrist roughly, pushes up the deep blue sleeve, and sucks in a breath. “I think she’s right. You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”

Leonard thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe, how to move, how to speak, paralyzed by the opposing forces dragging on him. _Tell the truth. Can’t tell the truth._

Suddenly Jim’s grip gentles. “Bones. Breathe with me. In….”

As he obeys, Jim’s face comes into focus. He’s looking right at Leonard with all the intensity that made him a starship captain so young. “Better?” he asks.

Leonard nods, then croaks, “Haven’t been that hungry.”

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.” Jim lets him go and twists his hands into his own lap. “You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, your phobia’s back… you’re not okay. Look, I brought you here to apologize.”

“What the hell for?”

“I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been looking out for you.”

Leonard starts to protest, but the words won’t come.

“I know, I know, you’re a grown man and whatever. That’s bullshit. You took such good care of me and I didn’t… nobody was taking care of you, were they?”

He’s talking about those first weeks and months after Khan now, he must be. Leonard would like to point out that Spock once threatened him with an _order_ to go sleep, but he’s not sure it counts.

“That’s _my_ job,” Jim says. “You’re my best friend. That’s my job.”

What about Spock? Leonard doesn’t say it. His mouth feels glued shut.

“I’m so sorry, Bones. I was so wrapped up in my shit but that’s not an excuse, I know I left you hanging so many times this year and I never once asked….”

_You saved my life_.

“But that ends now, okay? I’m gonna, I’m gonna help you figure this out now.”

Figure what out? He wants to push back, away. _This_ is too much to manage, even to define. And anyway, their damn rule-following First Officer witnessed his meltdown.

Jim reaches for Leonard again, placing a large warm hand on each of his crossed legs. “Look. The way I see it, we have two main problems here. One is how you’re doing overall. And two is that you need to be able to fly. So first of all, I want you to see someone. If you’re not comfortable seeing Liz, then we can patch you through a private subspace channel. I know we’ve got the meds you might need onboard. Uhura can keep you from being monitored. But I know you might want to, you know, face-to-face….” Jim trails off at last. “Bones? You’ve been oddly quiet.”

“I thought,” Leonard starts, then fails on the words: _I thought I was suspended again, at the very least_. He untangles a wobbly hand and places it over one of Jim’s.

“Oh,” Jim says softly, understanding. Suddenly he’s clasping Leonard’s hand in both his own. “Bones, we are _not_ leaving you behind or sending you away over this. I won’t let that happen. The crew needs you. I need you. And you’re my best friend and I want you to be _okay_. I always have. It’s just that I’ve been an asshole lately, and you can feel free to call me that. Not that you don’t already. Are you hearing me? Just nod or something.”

Shakily he nods, letting Jim squeeze his hand into jelly. After a moment he says, “Spock.”

“Spock is going to give us time to work on this before he passes anything up the chain.”

It isn’t exactly what he meant, but the steel edge in Jim’s voice answers his question. Leonard swallows against the rising hope in his throat. “How’d you swing that?”

“I have ways. Bones… one more thing.” Jim looks up and over his head, nervous. “I won’t ask if you’ve thought about… this, but I need you to promise me. Promise me you won’t hurt yourself.”

It appears that Jim has divined all of his secrets today, simply by dint of his focused attention. Leonard nods again. He’s made it this far, after all.

“Say it.”

“I promise.” Leonard watches, with no small amount of wonder, as Jim’s whole body loosens, his gaze relaxing down from the ceiling. No more talk of that. “What about the flying?”

“That,” Jim says, “we’ll work on together. You and me, just like the first time. What do you say?”

It’s a lot to take in. But for once, he is being overwhelmed with news that is probably good. Leonard clears his throat. “Yeah, okay.”

For a split second he worries that he ought to be able to muster more outward enthusiasm, but Jim’s smile is bright enough for both of them.

 

* * *

 

 

When Leonard returns to his quarters, something loosens in his chest. Before Jim showed up tonight he’d been thinking how livable the place actually was, sure that he’d not be allowed to keep it. The little space looks different now. There’s a way he might stay in it.

Part of him still seizes up those first few afternoons, afraid that Jim will get distracted and forget again, but Jim shows up every night and drags him into the viewing room. Slowly they take the blankets down from the windows.

Three days into their orbit of Deneb 5, he steps in and faces the wall of windows without betraying anything at all. Jim makes him walk right along the edge of space and hold a conversation before he finally claps him on the back and pulls a flask out of his left boot.

“Do you always have alcohol in there?” Leonard asks, startled.

“No. I just thought today would be the day.” Jim hands him the flask with a wicked grin. “Next up: the shuttles.”

Leonard groans and lets the whisky warm his throat.

Jim takes his own swig and looks him dead in the eye. “How’s it with Liz?”

“It’s going,” Leonard says, by which he means that _he’s_ going and talking at Liz however strange it is to be the patient of a colleague. It was uncomfortable at first but he knows Liz is among the best: she’s on the _Enterprise._

Nodding, Jim passes back the flask, still eyeing him steadily.

“She says she’ll write you a formal fitness-for-duty eval when we get back to Earth,” Leonard adds, for something to say.

“You’re staying with us,” Jim says with certainty.

Leonard isn’t so sure. Or – he thinks suddenly – is that the depression talking?

He’ll have to think about that one.

Heedless of the silent void at his back, he scrounges up a smile.  “Okay, Jim,” he says.


End file.
